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ld they come expecting to see their sister Gothel? It hurt Circe’s heart to think they were expecting to find their home just as they’d left it. Yes, this was why it was so important for her and Snow to be here. To tell them their story—and the story of their sister, should they want to know it.
The mansion was in almost complete disrepair, ruined by the soldiers of the kingdom who had come to retrieve the magic flower, forcing Gothel and her sisters from their home many years before. Circe imagined Sir Jacob and his army fighting to protect the dead woods, hoping one day Gothel would return to these lands and take her place as queen of the dead. She felt heartbroken about the ruin of their lives and their home, and of Jacob’s hopes and dreams. And to think, all that time, Gothel had been right. The flowers had brought her sisters back to life. If only the flowers Jacob had planted at the little cottage so many years before had bloomed in time.
“Where should we start, Snow? The library? Should we see if it still stands?”
Snow nodded without a word, just as moved as Circe by the state of the dead woods. “Could you maybe repair it?” she asked quietly. “Do you have that power?”
Circe hadn’t even thought of that. “I just might. And what a wonderful idea. If Primrose and Hazel intend to live here, then I suppose I’d better try.”
“Should we see if…” Snow stopped herself.
“What’s that, Snow? What did you say?”
Snow squished her lip to the side and bit it, as she often did when she was vexed or unsure about something. “I was going to ask if we should check to see if Sir Jacob survived.”
“That’s a good idea. Let’s check.” But Snow was still making that face, causing Circe to think she was unsure.
“Do you think we should disturb him? In Gothel’s story, he did say he wanted to rest.”
Circe smiled. “You are so kind, Snow. And you’re right, he did say that, but I think he would want to know if his witches are about to return.”
“How much time do you think we have before Hazel and Primrose get here?”
“Maybe one day more if they’re on foot, I think.”
“Is that enough time for you to get things in better shape while I take a look in the library and maybe go through the books we took from Mrs. Tiddlebottom’s?” Snow desperately hoped she would find the pages from “The Mourning Box.”
“Snow, what is this all about, this obsession with missing pages? What is the mourning box?”
“I don’t want to say, Circe. Not until I’ve read the entire story. Please trust me.”
Circe took Snow’s hand as they walked toward the mansion. “Of course I trust you, Cousin. I trust you with my entire heart. Let’s see if the library is still standing, shall we? And then maybe break our fast with something from the feast Mrs. Tiddlebottom packed for us?”
The two ladies made their way up the hill to what was left of the mansion. Inside, it wasn’t as ruined as they had feared. Many of the rooms were still intact and undamaged by the battle. Most of the destruction was to the outer walls and vestibule, and Circe imagined this was what it must have looked like after Manea attacked Gothel and her sisters years earlier. Both of the ladies were happy to see that the morning room they’d read about was still beautiful; only a few panes of glass had been broken, and the furniture hadn’t been turned over or damaged like it had in some of the lower rooms.
“This won’t take much time at all to manage,” said Circe as she and Snow White continued to explore, in search of the library.
The library was one of the older rooms in the mansion, not one of the new rooms Gothel had built for her sisters after she sent her mother’s spirit to the mists. It was sad seeing this place, reliving Gothel’s story as they walked the paths she must have taken. Snow made herself comfortable in Primrose’s old customary seat in the library, the one near the stone carving of a tree that was slightly in bloom. The carving was the one display of life in this dreary place aside from the monstrous stone beasts that were carved into the walls of the older rooms. Snow smiled as she thought of Primrose, and she hoped Primrose was the sweet person she had conjured in her mind after reading Gothel’s story.
“I’m going to leave you to your search if you don’t mind,” Circe said. “I don’t have much time to make this place more inhabitable for Hazel and Primrose.”
Snow looked up at Circe with her sweet large brown eyes. “And you will look for Sir Jacob?”
Circe smiled and nodded. “Yes, I will look for him.” Snow bit her lip. “What’s on your mind, Snow?”
“It’s just I’ve been wondering. How were we able to enter the dead woods? Aren’t the boundaries enchanted? And even if the minions and Jacob are here, how would you summon them?”
Circe wasn’t sure. “I suppose the enchantment died with the last of the witches who ruled here.” That didn’t seem to satisfy Snow. Circe could tell she had more questions but didn’t ask. Circe, too, wondered how her mothers had entered the woods when they were still girls. For now it would remain a mystery. “I have the mirror in my pocket, Snow. Do you have yours?” Snow looked up from the book she had been perusing while they were chatting and nodded. “Call me if you need me. And don’t forget to keep that locket on at all times,” Circe said.
Snow shook her head and laughed. “I may not be a witch, but I was raised by one. I’ll be fine, Circe. Now go. I have a lot of reading to do.”
Circe left Snow to her books while she went through the mansion, repairing the damage with the wave of her hand. She expected this sort of magic to be difficult and exhausting, but it was almost effortless. As she swept through the mansion, her magic bringing the house back to its former glory, Circe felt like she was bringing the past back to life, preserving it for Primrose and Hazel, just as Gothel and Jacob had preserved Primrose and Hazel.
Circe found herself back in the courtyard, putting statues in their original positions, and to her surprise she found two striking young women standing before Primrose’s and Hazel’s crypts, right beneath the words Jacob had etched into stone:
Sisters. Together. Forever.
The women looked exactly as Circe had imagined them.
